“You were right to ask questions.” Moving her hand into a more comfortable tattooing position, I growled, “Now, no more speaking. I have to concentrate.”
Tess bit her lip as the needle collided with her flesh.
She winced as I slowly wrote the scripture around her tiny finger.
It wasn’t easy, and some of my lines weren’t perfect, but the vow threaded around her digit directly where her wedding ring sat. The black ink glowed against her skin, forever there. However, unless someone looked under her diamond, they’d never know it existed.
Only me and my beast.
Just as it should be.
It only took a few minutes. Her finger bled just a little, and once I’d completed the final swirl, I daubed the artwork with aftercare cream and wrapped her finger in a protective covering.
Letting her go, I stood and placed the apparatus on the bedside table.
She would ink me in return, but she was right. Endorphins and lust ran through both our veins. My hands hadn’t been as steady as they should’ve been. I wanted her. I’d drawn blood enough to sate the heinous lust inside, but I hadn’t hurt her enough to add the utmost pinnacle to her pleasure.
The night was full of possibilities.
And it was time to begin.
I COULDN’T STOP looking at my tattoo.
Not when Q unbound my wrist and ankles. Not when he ordered me to stand at the end of the bed and strip. And definitely not when he secured my legs to the four-poster frame while I stood in a wide stance with my hands on the mattress.
The see-through covering over my new inscription protected and smeared his inked promise but the black calligraphy had seeped into my blood and scripted on my heart, too. The black lettering looked like delicate filigree, ready to be hidden, once healed, beneath my glittering wedding ring.
Q’s gorgeous cursive had well and truly marked me as his. I felt more like his wife than I ever thought possible and I wanted to create something with him. I wanted to treasure and cherish every single moment we had left together because life was way too damn short.
“Are you ready?” Q purred behind me.
After stripping off my underwear, he’d inspected my bare pussy, ensuring I’d obeyed his commands to shave every inch. It wasn’t often he wanted me completely nude, but I understood why tonight.
That magic wand he’d purchased was the devil and God all in one. The softness of the vibrating head against the swollen wetness of my clit had spun me so tight and hot, so fast and strong; I worried that when I did come, it would cleave me in two.
I didn’t want to die via orgasm. Especially now Q had written ownership on me with his own hand.
“I asked, are you ready, esclave?” He swatted my behind.
He couldn’t hide his tremble or erection. The large mirrored wardrobe to my right showed a kinky, erotic scene. Q had stripped, too. He stood with a lambskin flogger in his hand while every inch of him was deliciously naked.
His cock speared in front, just as bare as I was. He’d shaved to match.
I shivered in anticipation of our slick skin sliding and slapping and fucking and taking.
My head lolled as desire made everything so heavy and tender. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”
“Ten strikes for being such a good wife. If you deserve more afterward, I’ll give them to you. But for now…I’ll go easy.”
I nodded, placing my cheek on the mattress. My fingers curled into the soft sheets, activating the burn of my tattoo.
The first whistle of the flogger reached my ears just before the sharp bite punished my ass.
Q sucked in a harsh breath, growling in his chest. “Count for me, Tess.”
“One.”
He’d struck me so many times; my body no longer fought the sting. It slipped and liquefied, swirling down and down into the sensual darkness inside my mind. Q could whip me for hours, and I would love every strike because he could hurt my mortal body but not my immortal soul. That latched onto his, making love without boundaries all while our outwardly forms punished each other.
Q raised his arm again.
The flogger lacerated the air, landing on my skin. “Two.”
He didn’t pause, punishing me quickly.
I shuddered. “Three.”
Another. “Four.”
And another. “Five.”
“Six.”
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
My legs grew weak, and I gave more and more weight to the mattress. My clit throbbed, and if he angled the flogger between my legs, I would come within a splinter of a second.
The whistle came again. “Nine.”
And a final time. “Ten.”
Q huffed hard as he threw away the whip and fisted the blindfold from last night. His skin blazed while his eyes shot black with monsters. He was so fucking hot. So primal and proud and strong. Sometimes, I deliberately angered him just to see the different pigments of rage upon his skin and hear the different tones of abuse in his voice.
I loved his madness.
I loved our crazy, wonderful life.
Somewhere in the room, the soft chime of midnight heralded Q’s birthday.
“Happy birthday, maître.” Wriggling my ass, I implored. “I think the only way to bring in such a day is to be cock deep in your very willing wife.”
Q lashed the blindfold from behind me. Instead of going for my eyes, he looped it around my throat.
He’d asphyxiated me before. He’d taken me to the edge of unconsciousness more times than I could count. Sometimes, instinct bellowed over my trust of him, demanding I scream my safe word.